


It's Not Insomnia

by notfreyja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notfreyja/pseuds/notfreyja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several of Hogwart's students have been having trouble sleeping as of late. And although they all insist it's not their fault, none of them will say exactly why they cannot sleep through the night. All they will say is that it's not insomnia, though they oftentimes wish that it were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blaise Zabini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise Zabini never got a lot of sleep. It wasn't because of homework, or because of any outside stress. It wasn't even because he had insomnia or something equally as irritating. No, it was because his dorm mates were all psychotic.

Blaise Zabini never got a lot of sleep. It wasn't because of homework, or because of any outside stress. It wasn't even because he had insomnia or something equally as irritating. No, it was because his dorm mates were all psychotic.

Theodore Nott talked in his sleep. He'd call out random gibberish, that Blaise supposed had to be relevant to his dream. Judging by the rambling and occasional shout muffled by his pillow, Nott's dreams had to be interesting, to say the least. The most irritating part was that he never remembered them in the morning, leaving Blaise with his mind working overtime, trying to figure out what they could possibly be. So needless to say, if Theo started mumbling in the middle of the night, and Blaise was still awake, he wasn't going to get much sleep.

Vincent Crabbe was a restless sleeper. He'd sleep for about an hour or two, then wake suddenly, with no clue as to why. He'd then leave his bed and go to the bathroom, then return to bed, before realizing that he'd left the bathroom light on and was blinding his poor sleep deprived house mate. So then he'd have to get back up, thump his way back across the room, and switch the light off. But by then it was too late.

See, the biggest problem was that Blaise was a very light sleeper. It wouldn't take much to have him fully awake. And, here, in their dungeon bedroom, there was plenty to not only wake him up, but to keep him up as well.

Gregory Goyle was far worse than the other two. He snored. And not just at random points throughout the night, like Nott's mumbling, but constantly. It wasn't even a rhythmic, potentially soothing snore. No, it was sporadic, jumping from quiet to loud in a millisecond, with random burst of ear-shattering sound.

Some people said that Blaise had a habit for being overly dramatic. And did he believe them? Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he did.

But that did not change the fact that if Nott's mumblings and Crabbe's constant marching to and from the bathroom didn't wake him up, then Goyle's snores were bound to. So, with his chances of sleep down to almost none, it seemed highly unlikely that it could possible get any worse. But, believe it or not, that's exactly what it did.

The fellow Slytherin that was giving Blaise the most trouble was actually Draco Malfoy. Draco had the worst nighttime habit of them all: he moved in his sleep. It wasn't just random limb twitches, or head turning. It wasn't even the occasional role. No, it had to be worse. Much, much worse.

Draco would go to sleep almost instantly, and was in fact a very heavy sleeper. But less than a half an hour after he drifted off, he would start to roll…and kick…and turn. So the blonde would often wake up with his legs completely tangled in the sheets, his arms twisted behind his back, and his head were his feet should go.

It irritated Blaise like nothing else had ever managed to in his life. He had even gone as far once that he lost it completely, and tied all of Draco's limps to corresponding bedposts in the hope that it would immobilize him just for one night.

Instead, the stupid boy broke one of the posts with a resounding crack that woke everyone, not just Blaise, and then he had to explain to a very grouchy Professor Snape why he had tied his friend to the bed in the first place. That was not a conversation that he had any inclination to repeat.

Draco was furious about it the next day. But in a quiet sort of way. He yelled, sure, but his body was silent. And then Blaise got it. Draco was always so still in his day to day activities, so frozen, that he had to move sometime.

It seemed that his night time spasms were simply Draco getting rid of his pent up energy whenever he got the chance. Because, honestly, teenage boys weren't meant to be as still as Draco constantly was. It just wasn't normal. It was as if he was carved of ice: put too much energy into him, and he'd melt; move him too quickly, and he'd shatter. It was the way he was raised, and it wasn't healthy.

So every night since the first of September when they were eleven, Blaise had been woken up around midnight by Draco's flailing, like clockwork. And then one day, he wasn't.

Goyle's snores woke him at about one thirty in the morning, and he grumbled, forcing his eyes back shut, trying to drown out the rasping breathing and Theo's incoherent babble. He was almost back to sleep when his eyes snapped open again. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

He wasn't sure what it was at first. The dorm was the same as ever. Dark, cold, and filled with the possessions of five seventeen year old boys…there was no one standing with their wand pointed at him…all his housemates were being just as annoying as ever. Theo was rambling, Goyle was snoring, Crabbe had yet to wake up for his nightly stroll to the bathroom, and Draco was – gone.

The first thought that entered Blaise's mind was rather logical, considering what god-forsaken hour it was. He figured that Draco had just gone to the bathroom and would be back in a moment. He huffed in irritation. It was Crabbe's job to parade around their room at night, not the blonde brat's. He glanced over at the bathroom door, intending to glare at it until Draco came out and went back to sleep. The problem was that Draco wasn't in the bathroom. The door was wide open, the light switched of.

Blaise frowned; worry starting to creep up on him. No matter how restless he was, Draco loved sleep, and he never stayed out late. Besides, he had seen him get in that bed only hours ago. So, one of two things had to have happened: there was a kidnapping, or Draco had snuck out. The kidnapping theory was highly unlikely, considering the protection on their common room alone, not to mention the castle itself. So that meant that Draco had willingly left his comfortable bed for some unknown reason, sacrificing who knew how much pointless beauty sleep.

Because, really, the vain git didn't need it.

Now Blaise was curious. He just had to wait up for Draco to return; not knowing would kill him. So he waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Then, at last, at nearly three o'clock in the morning, Draco stumbled into their dorm, his hair a mess, robes rumbled, and a grin across his face that was somehow joyful, shy, and smug all at once. And now Blaise knew where Draco had gone. He'd found himself a boyfriend.

Draco crept quietly over to his bed, deftly steeping over all the places where the floor creaked with what looked like practiced skill, unaware that his housemate was watching his every move. He sunk down onto the mattress and curled under the covers, passing out almost the second his head hit the pillow.

And, for the first time since they were eleven, Draco didn't kick in his sleep.


	2. Ron Weasley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron Weasley had a hard time sleeping whilst at school. And it wasn't because he had insomnia. Oh no, that would be far too simple. No, he had to be friends with Harry Potter.

Ron Weasley had a hard time sleeping whilst at school. And it wasn't because he had insomnia. Oh no, that would be far too simple. No, he had to be friends with Harry Potter.

People often made fun of him because he'd go to bed ridiculously early every night, then wake up late still grumbling about how tired he was. But they didn't know what happened in between. Every night since fifth year, Harry would have these horrible nightmares. He'd start to whine about an hour after he dozed off, and the next thing Ron knew, his friend was flailing around on the bed, screaming his head off.

The screaming was the worst part.

No matter how much of a jerk he had been in the past, Ron really did care about Harry. And it scared him, hearing the boy scream like that. It was like he was undergoing torture. The sad thing was, Harry probably was being tortured. The poor kid had the biggest bleeding heart out of anyone Ron knew, and he'd most likely find watching someone else in pain just as torturous as if it was himself. Which, on several occasions, it probably had been.

There were real horrors in Harry's past, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The thing is, Harry had always had nightmares, even back when they were first years. But they were small in comparison. After all, what is a flash of green light, really? When they were kids, it meant nothing.

But then they got older, and Harry had to learn the hard way.

The regular nightmares turned to nighttime torture sessions after the incident in the Graveyard fourth year. After Cedric died; When Voldemort returned. And after Harry almost died himself.

And as time passed, Harry was able to add more horrors to his list, more fears. So now, at the age of seventeen, Harry has enough memories and secret fears to keep him screaming every night.

And Harry, the tragic hero he was, wouldn't take a dreamless sleep potion. Back in the war, it made sense. He might have a vision, and that vision could save their lives. But now, he has no excuse. Harry says that the potion gives him horrible headaches, and everyone buys it because they don't know the truth. No one but Ron, that is, because he knows his best friend.

Harry wants to suffer. He thinks he deserves it.

Ron knows there's nothing he can do to change his mind. Harry can be stubborn like that. But that doesn't mean that he can't help.

So every night, Ron goes to bed extra early, with an alarm set to wake him up around twelve, because Harry has never gone past one in the morning without going into hysterics. He climbs into Harry's bed, shuts the curtains, and casts a silencing charm under his breath. He wouldn't want Harry to wake up the rest of Gryffindor like he did before Ron started these vigils.

And then he waits. Sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for fifty, but wait he does. And then, out of nowhere, Harry starts to scream.

Ron knows that by the time Harry's screaming he's too far gone in whatever nightmare is haunting him that night and won't wake up. So he grabs his friend and just holds him close, offering what little comfort that he can. It doesn't really help much, but it's all he can do, so he'd be a rotten friend if he didn't.

And so they sit: long into the night, with Harry screaming and crying, clutching onto Ron in his sleep, fighting through his own personal hell.

Sometimes the screams are just senseless sounds. But sometimes, they're names. And those are the worst ones, because Ron knows them all. Names like Fred, Colin, Dumbledore, and even Snape. Mad-eye, Remus, and Tonks. Mum and Dad. Cedric. And Sirius. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.

And then there are names that make him even more afraid, names that Harry's cursing at the top of his lungs. Yelling out Voldemort, and Wormtail. Cursing Bellatrix Lestrange too many times to count. He has a strong hate for Fenrir Greyback as well.

And Ron didn't blame him.

The worst by far were the name's practically whispered. The names he cherished more than others, but scarred him so. Names he didn't want to lose. Hermione and Ginny and the Weasley clan. Neville, and Seamus. Dean, as well. Even Luna Lovegood made a few appearances.

And of course, Ron's name was often featured.

Malfoy had popped up several times, but never the same way twice. Sometimes Harry would be practically growling the name, the hate so evident that Ron flinched. He'd scream it like a swear word as well, and then once, only once, Harry whispered "Draco." Not Malfoy, but Draco. And his voice was so quiet that Ron was unable to tell the emotion behind it, but if he had to guess, he would have said regret. As strange as it may seem, it sounded like Harry was apologizing to Malfoy, of all people. If someone had asked him, Ron would have said it should have been the other way around.

The worse nights by far though, were the nights when Harry just never showed up. Ron would go to bed, be woken up at midnight, then look over to Harry's bed to find it empty. And Merlin knows what Harry does those nights, when he can't even bear to sleep. So then Ron stays up all night, waiting, anxiously starring at their door, hoping for Harry to stumble in, deliriously tired, and collapse on his bed. But it never happens.

Then the sun comes up, everyone goes down for breakfast, and there will be Harry, sitting calmly at the Gryffindor table, rubbing his eyes and drenching his pancakes in maple syrup.

See, some people might be asking why he even bothers, if it doesn't really help. Ron asks himself that every day, and never finds the answer. All he knows is that he has to. One time, back in sixth year, Lavender kept him out a little later than usual, and to be honest, Harry was the farthest thing from his mind. That is, until he got back.

He walked into the dorm room to be greeted by a haunting scream, just like the ones he silenced every night. All of his dorm mates were standing around Harry's bed, pale faced and shaking, watching as their friend cried out in agony, unable to do anything but watch.

It looked as if Harry's screaming had woken them, and, unsure what else to do, the boys cast a silencing charm on the door to keep him from waking the rest of the castle. Dean had his eyes squeezed shut clutching for dear life to a silently sobbing Seamus, as Neville starred wide-eyed at Harry, frozen in horror.

Without saying a word, Ron crossed the room, climbed on to the bed, shut the curtains, casting a silencing charm, and pulled Harry to him.

From then on, none of the sixth year boys teased Ron for his morning grumbling. Now they knew.

So every night, Ron holds onto Harry as he fights his way through his self-made hell. And every night, an hour or so before dawn, the screams are replaced by tears. Ron is helpless to do anything but watch as Harry cries for his pain, and the pain of others. He is crying for the dead and their families; for the nameless victims never to be found.

Ron holds his friend as he cries for all of wizard-kind, letting loose the agony that haunts him every day, and most likely will for the rest of his life. He holds onto Harry, trying to offer what little comfort he can.

As he cries with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that was incredibly depressing. I may or may not be sorry. But what I am, is considerring doing a lot more of these. So we shall see...


	3. Hermione Granger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger never, ever, got a full night’s sleep. Now this wasn’t because she had obnoxious roommates who liked to gossip on long into the night. It wasn’t even because she had a medical condition that magic could easily cure, like insomnia for example. No, see, Hermione was an addict.

Hermione Granger never, ever, got a full night’s sleep. Now this wasn’t because she had obnoxious roommates who liked to gossip on long into the night. It wasn’t even because she had a medical condition that magic could easily cure, like insomnia for example. No, see, Hermione was an addict.

 

And her addiction was books.

 

All kinds of books. The long, tediously detailed accounts of history, both magical and muggle. She enjoyed fabulous fictional flights of fancy into far off lands, with characters full of depth. Characters that are so capable of emotions just as powerful, moving, and sometimes even as petty as any real person’s. Those characters that you couldn’t help but fall in love with and utterly loathe at the same time.

 

Not to mention the stories themselves. Oh, the stories. Epic tales of journeys across wild lands in hostile times. The bitter-sweet eternal song of forbidden love. The classic hero. Every one called to her. And who was she to ignore their call?

 

So she answered. Stealing away from Harry and Ron, she’d dart to the library as often as possible. Filling what little space remaining in her bag with treasured tomes only after she gently placed each one she had completed exactly right on it’s proper shelf.

 

Madame Pince loved Hermione. That sweet girl treated her library with more respect than practically any student she had ever met before. Unlike the rest of the rare few that actually took books unrelated to school assignments, Hermione would always return everything back to exactly its proper place. Most would just dump the books on her desk for her to get later. A couple would attempt to return them properly, but wouldn’t get the spot exactly right.

 

But not Hermione. No that girl placed every single book she had ever taken out of the library back in exactly the right slot on the countless shelves. Madame Pince thought that it was one of the greatest, kindest things a student had ever done for her.

 

Yet Hermione did not see it that way. According to her, she was just taking a good friend home after a wonderful day together, and what sort of friend would she be if she did not escort them all the way there?

 

To her these books were her friends. Literature had been her friend long before she had any human ones. All her childhood she was the freak, the book-worm. When she got to Hogwarts, she had been so excited. Finally she was going to meet people like her, and she wouldn’t be so weird to them and she might make some living, breathing friends.

 

Sadly, that was no the case. Still even amongst her own kind, she felt shunned. The early ostracizing made her long for her library back home, within walking distance of her house. The place she had practically grown up in.

 

So she went looking for a new sanctuary, a new places to run a hide when life became too cruel. With directions from a surprisingly helpful ghost she found it – the Hogwarts library.

 

It just had so many books. So many that, when she first caught sight of it, Hermione felt as though she might cry from sheer joy. This was not a library; this was an entire universe within her school, hiding little treasures upon its shelves.

 

So she checked out three books, and was up all night reading them, returning them by morning. She had not slept at all, but that was okay. She had found something much better than dreams.

 

And thus began Hermione Granger’s seemingly mad quest to read the entirety of the collection. Going systematically, row by row, shelf by shelf, she tore through the tomes.

 

Night after night, she stayed awake far longer than was healthy, determined to finish the book before morning. _Just one more chapter_ ,she would say.

 

But then she became friends with Harry and Ron and that was wonderful. So she didn’t need to fall so far into her books as she did before. And yet, she could not stop. So thoroughly invested in her mission she was, that as the end of term approached she grew panicky, not knowing how she would cope over the summer. It was such an awfully long time to go without a new book.

 

Somehow, she managed to cope. But when second year began, Hermione threw herself back into her reading with a renewed fervor. She was going to read all those books if it was the last thing she did. Only seven years with that beautiful library, she had to finish it.

 

And every year she slept less and less. Spent less time actually studying. Even less time spent on acquiring any form of social life. If not for Ron and Harry, she probably wouldn’t have any friends left.

 

But she would have her books.

 

Every night she had to read more and more. Hermione was running out of time and that was as far from okay as it is possible to be. She just had to finish.

 

So every night she would lie awake in bed with her curtains drawn, the tip of her light illuminated in the darkness, lighting up the pages before her.

 

Whenever she grew tired she would repeat the same phrase, over and over, until it became her mantra. _Just finish one more chapter._

 

And as the sun began to rise, Hermione would not see it, too far gone into her endless pages. Only sleeping when sheer exhaustion knocked her out.

 _Just one more chapter,_ she would say, as she ‘woke up’ to face another day. Her finished books stacked like trophies on her bedside table, already looking forward to the night.

 

Where she would keep reading on and on. _Just one more chapter._ She would always say.

_Just one more._


End file.
